My friends Angela and Mike invite me over for a meatball dinner. While eating, Mike pulls out a guitar and we attempt to write a children's song. 'No, no, no,' Angela says, 'That will never sell.' She grabs a videotape and pushes play. 'It needs to be like this.'

In the video, Mike is hang gliding. The caption reads 'Musician. Father. Friend.' as soaring music plays. The Mastercard logo appears in the lower right hand corner of the screen.

Suddenly I am skydiving into the screen. I fly away through a clear blue sky and float above a desert landscape. My parachute is not opening - panic sets in until I begin to slow down and coast towards a small adobe hut village. Indigenous people come into focus, strolling with baskets on their heads. My boots land with a light thud and suddenly police cars with the word 'TACO' written in huge blue letters on the doors begin pulling up. I look over to see Mike has landed and is being taken into custody. Breaking into a run, my orange jumpsuit (?!?!) begins to rip apart. I take cover behind a small taco stand, furiously trying to remove the jumpsuit and boots to avoid being conspicuous.

I scramble as my suit will not come off. A man wearing a mustache and sombrero leans out from the taco stand and hands me a beer. 'Relax,' he says, 'I won't tell.'